The Sundress
by zentaylor
Summary: London is hot. Sherlock surprises John with some sensible attire and sugary fun ensues.


It hadn't been pleasurable few days in London. It was the height of summer; there was no escape from the city heat and everything seemed like it was on the brink of melting.

John sat in his armchair with a book, stoically ignoring the fact that he'd just ripped _another_ page because of the amount his hands were sweating. He gave the pastime up for lost when he dropped the slippery hardback onto his foot. Unfortunately, Mycroft had cottoned on to the fact that John had asked to see him twice this week just to experience the air-conditioned bliss that was the black car, and now he had no reason to move.

He'd endured Sherlock's whinging all morning. It had become increasingly theatrical as the temperature climbed with the passing hours, and John was soon sure he was losing his mind. During childhood summertimes, he and his sister would give the family Labrador ice cubes to play with to cool her down. For the sake of his sanity he made the decision to try the same with his consulting detective.

He was quietly surprised at just how entertained his over-heated love was by the cubes and responded with enthusiasm to the announcement that there was to be An Experiment. Instructed by Sherlock, who lay on the settee with his shirt unbuttoned, he positioned pieces of ice in different places on his toned chest and stomach. John was then provided with a continuous commentary on how quickly they melted, which was only just preferable to the whinging.

'It seems that my belly button is the warmest part of my torso, John.'

'That's great, Sherlock. Fantastic.'

This amused Sherlock until they ran out of ice cubes, and then the histrionics resumed. This annoyed John until a bead of sweat ran into his eye, stinging away the last shreds of his patience and resulting in Sherlock being sent to have a cool bath. He'd secretly saved a couple of ice cubes and these he popped into his mouth while he sat with his eyes closed, listening to the bath tub fill and allowing the sound of running water to take him to the cool, playful afternoons of youthful summers.

Thus he dozed for a while, smiling at Sherlock singing to himself, his baritone punctuated by small splashes. Soon he felt drops on his face from where his lover was shaking his mane of wet curls in the kitchen.

'Mmm. Thank you for that suggestion, John. That's was very pleasant.'

'Good. Now try and stay still so you don't get too…'

John fell silent when Sherlock walked past his chair in what appeared to be a short cornflower-blue dress.

'Uh – Sherlock? What's that?'

'It's a sundress, John.'

'… Right.'

Thin straps led to a button-up bodice which hugged Sherlock's waist. John had a very meagre knowledge of fabrics, but he recognised linen when he saw it, and also recognised that what would probably have been a modest length on a woman's frame certainly did not translate now the dress was on the frame of a tall man. The very definition of immodest, it barely covered the curves of Sherlock's unclad bum.

John was almost ashamed of himself when his initial thoughts of ravishing Sherlock with that dress pushed high over creamy, pliant flesh was interrupted by an entirely different thought.

_He looks so cool._

Sherlock had returned to the settee to lay on his tummy, mouthing pensively at an ice lolly he'd found in the kitchen. After its narrow waistband, the dress ballooned over his hips, accentuating the plushness of his backside after which stretched an endless expanse of leg. John was torn between watching his flatmate's impossible mouth being turned red by the ice lolly and staring at tantalising inches of exposed arse cheek.

'Sherlock, you have absolutely no idea how hard I want to fuck you at this moment. You look like Lolita.'

'Who?'

'It's a book. She's a twelve-year-old girl seduced by a man who becomes her stepfather.'

'You're drawing some dark parallels there, John.'

'Trust me, I'm really trying not to. There's just an iconic scene where she eats a red lolly pop whilst wearing a short dress, I think, and she drives him mad.'

'How bizarre.'

John wiped more sweat from his brow and palmed his erection. 'Where on earth did you get that and why haven't I seen it before?'

'Umm,' replied Sherlock, licking melted ice from his wrist and earning a string of profanities from John, 'I bought it yesterday because the heat is boring me. I thought you'd like it. It matches your eyes.'

'I like it a lot. I'm so hard that I might just pass out from lack of blood to my vital organs.'

Sherlock stretched languidly. 'It's too hot to have sex yet, John. It'll be cooler in a few hours. You can do me then.'

'A few hours? Sherlock, if I don't come in the next few minutes I think I might die.'

'But it's _so hot_.'

'All right, I'll stay over here then - you don't have to move at all. I'm going to have a wank though, if you don't mind. You just lie there, if you like.'

Sherlock hummed his approval, looking at John through long lashes as he undid his shorts, freeing his swollen cock. No time was wasted – John fisted a sweat-slick palm around himself and his show began. The detective arched his back and slinked up the settee until his arse rose high, free entirely from blue linen.

'Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock. You just wait until it's cooler…'

There was a small piece of ice lolly remaining on Sherlock's stick. With his eyes fixed on John's, he sucked it gently between his reddened lips for a moment before releasing it with a little moan. John answered with his own array of noises, frantic now as he neared orgasm.

He was ready to throw himself over the edge before his hand suddenly slowed. His own mouth opened as Sherlock took the small piece of ice lolly from his mouth, slid it from the stick with his fingers and balanced it on a cheek of his lavish backside. It started to melt instantly; a large bead of pink-red began a slow trail down its dune of pale skin.

'Sh – Sherlock, fuck –'

John was on his feet with a yell, penis still in his hand as he ran to the sofa. In the time it took for the liquid to run down the cleft between Sherlock's cheeks, he'd fallen to his knees and buried his face between them, capturing the nectar with a mouthful of flesh.

He groaned at the combination of already-sweet skin and sugar, sucking syrupy droplets from the balls of the detective. The sounds made by said detective as his hole was lavished with open-mouthed kisses soon had John filling his hand with come. Sherlock followed him seconds later, staining the pretty blue dress into which he'd been thrusting.

Both were now a sweaty mess of limbs and come, and as John's muscles relaxed it was with a laugh that he rested his forehead against Sherlock's soft rump.

'I'm so hot,' John whispered.

'Yes,' Sherlock agreed through a mouthful of cushion.

'Cold shower?'

'Excellent idea.'

Sherlock scowled as John wiped his hand on his dress.

'It's very dirty now. Perhaps you should keep it on in the shower.'


End file.
